Rocks Fall, Everyone Dies
by evie vie
Summary: Stuck in camp for a few days, the party tries its hand at a game of Hideouts & Mobsters.


In college, a bunch of us got together in the dorm lounge for what would be my first and only game of Dungeons & Dragons. This is kind of how it went.

* * *

"Well," Wynne said, "I've done everything I can. It should heal cleanly, but you're not going anywhere on that leg for a couple of days."

"But we haven't got the time," Cordelia said worriedly. It was nice to have her leg back on – they'd hunted for it for nearly an hour among the carnage in the Tower – but really, the Blight was not going to stop itself. "We really ought to be moving. I'll just have to take it slow for a bit."

"Try that," Wynne said firmly, "and I won't help you put it back on again. We're staying here."

"But what will we do trapped in camp for two whole days?"

"I can think of a few things," Zevran said with a lascivious grin.

"Not until you're fully healed," Wynne snapped, noting the subsequent disappointed look Cordelia and Alistair gave each other. "However you choose to pass your time, you can't move your leg while you do it."

"Like I said," Zevran remarked, "I can think of a few things – "

"Well, we did just come out of the Circle Tower, " Leliana said. "Some of those ancient tomes and manuscripts might make interesting reading, yes? And if not, I did find some popular novels, and something odd... a "Hideouts and Mobsters Campaign Manual"?"

Alistair's face lit up. "What? Are you serious? Give me that." He snatched the book away from Leliana, flipping through the first few pages wearing an expression of absolute glee. "I can't even begin to explain how much I love this game! We novices used to sneak out of bed at night and play this for hours and hours."

"Is that the one that's all dark fantasy?" Cordelia said. "Vast towering cities of glass and steel? Horseless wagons belching smoke while people ride on giant mechanical birds? Everyone for themselves in a bleak futuristic landscape?"

"All that and more. Pure cliched escapism at its best. I take it you've heard of it but never played?"

"I was always too busy researching, studying, practicing spells... you know, those pesky things that get in the way of playing a pointless game for eight hours straight." She smiled. "Always did want to try it, though. So: why not?"

She would live to regret that remark.

* * *

One of the arcane talismans Leliana had collected turned out to be a twelve-sided die numbered with Tevinter runes. Surprisingly enough, only Shale chose to sit out (and Dog, who lacked thumbs with which to adequately roll the dice). Alistair attributed it to his persuasive skills and unmatched talent as a Hideout Master, but Cordelia suspected the reason was that Oghren had opened up his second-to-last barrel of clove ale for the occasion.

A flat rock served as the gaming table. Explanations had been made, characters had been rolled, and Oghren seemed to already be cheerfully drunk. A promising start.

"All right, you've just entered the hideout of Joey "The Potato" Fanconi," Alistair said, checking the book. "Let's start with something easy. You're in the lobby of the building, and there's an angry level-1 mobster there pointing a handgun at you. He tells you to get lost."

"I turn him into a newt," Morrigan said immediately.

"Did you not just hear me explain the rules?" Alistair said. "You can't turn anyone into a newt."

"Fine, then. I turn him into a hairless mole rat."

"You can't turn anyone into anything! There is _no magic_ in Hideouts and Mobsters."

"No magic?" Morrigan said. "But the rulebook said my character can read other people's minds. Is this not blood magic?"

"Your character's class," Alistair explained, "is _psychic_. It's not magic, and it's _especially_ not blood magic. It's... the power of your own mind, or something like that. The book's not very clear, actually."

"So, magic then."

"All right," Alistair sighed. "Let's go ahead and call it magic."

"Then I turn him into a newt."

Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose. This was going to be a long game. "You can't turn him into a... Never mind. Your spell doesn't work. He shoots you in the leg. Wynne? You're next."

"I cast a healing... Oh, right." Wynne checked her notes. "Let's see... I have a... morphine? And some bandages." She examined the page closely. "This isn't right. It's just a painkiller, not a healing poultice. Don't I have any healing poultices?"

"Nope. All you get in the field in this game is painkillers and bandages. And a needle and thread for stitching the big wounds shut, of course."

"Stitching the...." Wynne was incredulous. "That's barbaric!"

"No magic, remember?"

"Well, then, I suppose I'll just have to bandage up her leg now and hope she doesn't die in the meantime."

"We'll roll later to find out if she does or not." Morrigan snorted. "Leliana?"

"My bouncer belches," Oghren said. "Loudly."

"Oghren, it's not your turn. You can belch later."

"Nope, gonna do it now." He demonstrated.

"Fine, then, that was your turn. Leliana, you're up."

"My starlet kicks him with her +3 Shoes of Pointiness," Leliana said firmly. "Right in the – "

"My bouncer's gotta belch again," Oghren announced.

"Look, Oghren, you can belch when it's your turn and not before." Leliana rolled. It didn't look good. "I'm sorry, Lel. He's just shot you in the belly and you'll die if they can't get you to a hospital in a few turns."

"_Barbaric_," Wynne muttered.

"Allow me," Zevran said suavely. "My attorney possesses the strongest weapon in the game against lower-ranked mobsters. I strike him firmly with my Federal Subpoena."

"Ooh! Dirty," Oghren remarked.

"You can't hit someone with a piece of paper," Alistair said. "Unless it's rolled up and you want to stop him from peeing on the rug." Dog whined. "Oh, hush. I didn't mean you."

"One of the most powerful weapons in the game is a piece of paper?"

"It commands the mobster to come to court and be judged for his crimes. And technically, you have to serve it to him."

"What? On a platter?"

"I never understood it either, but that's what the manual says."

"Fine, then," Zevran said. "I arrange it neatly on a dinner plate with a sprig of parsley and serve it to him."

"There, now you're getting into the spirit of things! The mobster is terrified of the subpoena. He screams and curls up in a little ball on the floor."

* * *

The motley crew had managed to get the location of the room where the mob boss kept his records by bribing the cringing mobster with some basketball season tickets. This was about when Oghren decided to break out the barley wine. The adventurers finally bumbled their way to Joey the Potato's office, where they needed to retrieve some important papers, which, Alistair implied, might be in the credenza in the back of the room.

Sten frowned. "What is it doing?"

"Nothing. It's a credenza."

"It is not attacking?"

"Nope, it's just sitting there at the back of the room, like they do."

"That is odd. Normally they are more hostile. No matter; it blocks our way and must be slain. My soldier shoots at it with his handgun." Sten rolled. "What is the damage?"

"It's got a great big hole in it, if that's what you're asking."

"And it still stands? Not surprising; they are hard to kill. I shoot at it with my machine gun."

"Still not dead. Lots more holes in it, though. Splinters all over the carpet. Cordelia, you're next."

"My real estate agent uses her flamethrower." She rolled. "Come on, I don't care how much armor it's wearing, it HAS to be dead by now."

"It's not dead," Alistair said, exasperated. "It's not alive either. It's a PIECE OF FURNITURE. And now it's a burning piece of furniture with bullet holes in it."

Sten was quiet for a moment, frowning. "Are we not speaking of a _kraaden sza_?"

"You know, the Qunari beast?" Cordelia said. "Seven feet tall, hairy, got a thing, you know, like chickens have?" She gestured vaguely to the top of her head. "A comb! It's got a comb on its head. " Oghren's homebrew really was very good.

"It's one of the first entries in every Qunari bestiary," Wynne added.

"I didn't grow up in a tower full of Qunari bestiaries! How would I know what a _kraaden sza_ is?"

Cordelia glared at him. "How would you know what a credenza is? Do much interior design in the abbey, did you?"

"More than you might think. All right, so there's a bullet-hole-ridden, burning cabinet at the back of the room –"

"My bouncer thinks things are getting a little dull," Oghren announced, "so he starts singing that one song about the hedgehog."

"I know that one!" Leliana said brightly. "And I think I'm just drunk enough to sing it. Where's my harp?"

"My psychic sets Oghren on fire with her mind," Morrigan said.

"I wish to know my experience points for killing the _kraaden sza_," Sten insisted.

"All right!" Alistair shouted. "That's it! Rocks fall, everyone dies!"

"A rockslide? In the city?" Wynne said.

"On the tenth floor of a building?" Zevran said.

"I mean it! Rocks fall! Everyone dies!"

There was a pause.

"If it would like," Shale rumbled, "I would be more than happy to do the honors."

* * *

They'd talked Shale out of live-action-roleplaying the violent death of the entire party in an avalanche, and things were back to more or less normal; Morrigan had retired to her corner of the camp muttering something about burning dwarves, Sten was quietly sulking about his missing experience points, and Shale was still bitter about the lack of squishing, but everyone else was gathered around the fire with what was left of the keg, singing merrily about obscene acts that could not be performed on a certain small, spiky animal.

Well, almost everyone else. Alistair had taken his manual and gone off in a huff, but he seemed to be over it as he sat down next to Cordelia. "Well," he said, oddly cheerful, "that actually went better than usual."

"Really?" Cordelia said. "How could that possibly be the case?"

"Let's see... only one person got set on fire by another party member. The filthy drinking songs didn't start as early as they usually do. And there was much, much less use of farting as an attack. Much less."

"Farting?"

"Teenage boys, remember."

"Ah."

He put his arm around her; she sighed and leaned her head on her bastard prince's shoulder, regarding the elf, dwarf, mages, giant, bard and golem who had come together ultimately to slay a demon-possessed dragon.

"You know," she said, "escapist fantasy isn't really my thing, anyway."

* * *

- I am also not kidding about the farting. That was one hell of a game.


End file.
